


Softer Than Is Apparent

by Ragnar_the_Red



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Kiss, romantic longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragnar_the_Red/pseuds/Ragnar_the_Red
Summary: Runaan confesses his feelings to Ethari at a New Year's Party. Or, he tries anyway.
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Softer Than Is Apparent

**Author's Note:**

> For fvrrons. Hope you enjoy it!

The assassin eyes a bottle of water longingly while the woman in front of him berates him. He had hoped that a long sparring session would tire her out, and prevent this topic from being brought up, so he could rest in peace and spend the last night of the year in blessed silence. But the moon had seemingly ordained for that not to be the case.

“Runaan, you better not just be skulkin’ in the corner the whole time again.” He towers over Tiadrin, but the much shorter woman had never let that stop her. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been lookin’ at the smith, how you’re always findin’ new ways to damage your bowblade to he has to repair it; it’s time to make a move, or I’ll make it for you.”

He sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do you insist on interfering in my love life?” Runaan gestures to both her and Lain, who has been watching the argument with an entertained grin. “I didn’t force you two together. Besides, I’m a grown elf. I can handle my own affairs.”

“ _ Didn’t force us together? _ ” Tiadrin’s voice reaches a pitch he didn’t think possible. “You were makin’ passive aggressive remarks for a whole  _ week  _ ‘fore I took Lain out. That was worse than this, because at least I’m bein’ straight with ya.” She takes a breath before continuing. “And if you were capable of actin’ like a grown elf, I wouldn’t be standin’ here tellin’ you  _ to _ act like one.”

Runaan stifles a groan; an unseemly sound for a professional assassin. One of the first lessons he learned in training was to choose his battles, and foes, wisely. And Tiadrin could be as implacable as the Thunder King himself. “Fine,” he relents. “I’ll...talk to Ethari at the party.” His friend’s stare intensifies. “And I will...ugh, attempt to  _ court _ him.”

Tiadrin leans back with a smug, satisfied smile and places her hands on her hips, accentuating the curve of her belly. It certainly did nothing to impede her fighting skills while they were sparring. He wonders for a moment if her child will be as stubborn and willful as her. He sincerely hopes not.

“Good. And unless you manage to royally embarrass yourself, your  _ attempt _ will be successful.” She snorts a bit. “Though, since it  _ is _ a social gatherin’...” She turns to Lain. “Maybe you should keep an eye on him, in case he think assassination missions are good small talk.”

Lain chuckles. “You give him too little credit,  _ chuisle _ . Sometimes he can talk about moonberry juice and how effective it is as a ration.” The couple chuckle and bid him farewell, leaving the training area to prepare for the New Year’s party.

Runaan half-limps to the water canteen, sore from the day’s work. He resists the urge to chug the liquid, instead imbibing it at a steady pace. He finishes the water after a few minutes, and stiffly walks towards his dwelling, his thoughts running amuck in all different directions.

What would he even say to Ethari? How would he even begin to confess the depths of his feelings?  _ I’ve hardly confessed them to myself _ , Runaan thinks to himself with bitter amusement. Even if the smith returned his affections, how could he put someone through the life of an assassin’s spouse? Weeks, months, perhaps years without seeing each other.

He rubs his temple as he opens his door and shuts it behind him, trying to clear his mind. It wouldn’t do any good to question himself now, with only a few hours until the party.  _ I have to make my decision now, to either admit my feelings to Ethari, or to push them aside forever _ .

And as much as he believed that courting the smith would only cause them both great pain in the future, Runaan found he could not bear to think of a fantasy future that did not have Ethari in it. “Stupid lovestricken fool,” he mutters to himself as he discards his dirtied clothes.

After a long, hot bath to refresh both his mind and body, he walks to his closet, searching for appropriate attire for a casual party. It’s always difficult for him to pick an outfit for these events; he skips them often as he can. He tells everyone that he is simply too busy, but he truthfully just doesn’t like the setting.

But the New Year’s party is where Ethari is going to be, so that’s where he must go. He sighs as he examines a deep green doublet with tan trousers, trimmed with silver. Perhaps if he treated it like a mission, it would be easier. Runaan considers it for a moment, and remembers Lain and Tiadrin’s mocking about his inability to talk about non-mission related subjects. “Maybe that isn’t such a good idea then.”

* * *

"A little overdressed for a New Years party don't you think?" Lain remarks with a smirk, standing in the doorway of his and Tiadrin's dwelling. "I shouldn't be surprised of course. Formal and assassin gear are the only clothes you seem to wear." He steps aside to let Runaan in.

The assassin just gives the other man a withering glance as he enters the house. The couple's house was one of the larger one's in the village, by virtue of being a married couple who intended to have children. Even still, it could get crowded with the twelve guest that Runaan knew they had invited for the private party.

He follows Lain from the entrance to the common area, where the rest of the partiers are. Tiadrin is engaging Skor in a game of Tablut, a competition carefully watched by the rest, each one of them clutching a glass of moonberry wine. Tia sips from a glass of moonberry juice instead.

Ethari stands behind Skor, his eyes darting from piece to piece intently. Swallowing the shameful fear bubbling in his throat, Runaan slowly ambles over to stand next to the smith, hoping he goes unnoticed by Tiadrin. He doesn’t of course; his friend gives him a knowing wink before returning her attention to the game.

"Oh, hello Runaan," Ethari greets warmly. "I wasn't sure if you'd come tonight. I'm glad; otherwise I'd have to hang off Tia and Lain all night, since they're the only ones here besides you that I talk to. Your team isn't as talkative as you are, it seems."

"I'm talkative?" Runaan wonders aloud, a little offended. There were few greater insults for an assassin; talking too much was a bad habit in a vocation that required subtlety. Ethari chuckles, a pleasing sound that makes him more flustered.  


"Compared to most, I'd say so." He chuckles again as he reads Runaan's slightly mortified expression. "That's not a bad thing, you know. I like the company when you come into my shop. Weapon crafting and repairing can get pretty lonely, with no apprentice to help me."

"Well, I'm...um...glad I could help you with that." Garlath, he was terrible at this. It was easier when they were just talking; now that Runaan wanted to push his romantic agenda, he found that his very mind was turning against him. This sort of territory was _not_ comfortable for him.

Ethari doesn't speak further, and Runaan curses his lack of social grace, as both of them return their attention to the game. Tiadrin's face is contorted in a smug grin, and he sees that she is only a few moves from defeating Skor. An expected result. She would likely challenge him next.

As he predicted, Skor is swiftly disposed of. The stocky elf gets up shaking his head, and mutters to Runaan: "Good luck, boss." Tiadrin is smiling mischievously at him now, and gestures for him to take Skor's former seat at the table.

"I suppose it's up to me to defend the honor of the assassins here," Runaan remarks drily as they reset the board. Tia snorts, handing her empty glass to Lain, who dutifully leaves to refill it.

"Do you also defend human mages and other such non-existent concepts?" she taunts gleefully. "I'd say you were defending assassin pride, but you all have that in overabundance." The non-assassins in the party chuckle at the sniping, while his teammates plead with their eyes for him to answer these slights.

Runaan plays the defenders on the inside of the playing square, while Tiadrin plays the attackers on the outside. As defender, he has the first move, and he uses it to begin the path for his king’s escape. Normally, he would be more aggressive, but the audience is making him cautious, and Tiadrin knows his normal strategy too well.

Tia is her normal, confrontational self, throwing her pieces at his king instead of creating a thin perimeter. It could be a quick game if he wasn't careful. Someone offers him a glass of wine; he nearly refuses until he realizes it's Ethari dangling the drink before his eyes. He accepts it with a quick thanks.

The game continues on for a while, Tia relaxing her aggressive approach for a more balanced one. Finally, Runaan believes he has found a good route for his king to escape through. But after he finishes his move, he realizes that he has made it easy for Tiadrin to pin him down.

To his surprise, she passes up the opportunity, and moves a piece to a different position than the one that would be most suitable. It was a decent move in its own right, but it would by no means guarantee victory like the best move would.

He glances at her looking for any indication that she realizes her error, but her face is impassive. As Runaan is about to consider his next move, her eyes lock with his and she flashes a very brief, very  _ knowing _ smile. He silently curses her for going easy, and thanks her for not capitalizing on his rookie mistake in front of Ethari.

Ten turns later, his king has escaped, making him the victor. The table claps for him, and Tiadrin leans back in her chair, faking exasperation. “You had to beat me sometime, I suppose.” The glint in her eyes tells him everything.  _ You owe me for this _ . He nods wearily, standing up from the chair.

“Time to move out to the balcony everyone,” Lain calls out. “Only a few minutes until the New Year comes.” Runaan’s heart begins to pound as he walks to the balcony alongside Ethari. The moment of truth was nearly here.

“I wasn’t sure anyone could beat Tia at that game,” Ethari remarks in a complimentary tone. “But then again, I’ve never seen you play before. Maybe you could teach me sometime? I’ve got to pay her back about a dozen times.”

Runaan glances to his right to see Tiadrin give him a look. He turns back to Ethari, scratching the back of his neck. “I just got lucky, she’s better than me.” He’s quiet for a moment, struggling internally. “But thank you. I’d...like to teach you sometime, too.”

They both look towards the giant moondial in the center of the Silvergrove, the shadow nearly upon the last hour. The mage tending to it shouts: “FIVE!” The elves watching shout back “FOUR!” and they all count down in unison. “THREE! TWO! ONE!”

The mage casts a delayed spell, sending luminescent owls flying through the air. Everyone cheers, and turns to their chosen partner for the ceremonial kiss. Runaan gulps nervously, as he looks to Ethari. “Would you like to-”

He doesn’t finish his question, as Ethari silences him with his mouth, pressing their lips together. Runaan overcomes the brief moment of shock and melts into the kiss. He wraps his arms around Ethari’s waist, and the smith responds in kind by clutching Runaan’s face with his hand.

They break apart for a moment, and touch their foreheads together. Ethari laughs lightly, and so does Runaan, his concerns fading away. “Well that was worth the wait, don’t you think?” the smith asks him.

“Indeed it was,” Runaan murmurs with a small smile, and they kiss again, eager to usher in the New Year.


End file.
